I Can't Take My Eyes Off of You
by foreternityblue
Summary: A pianist who has lost all inspiration and needs something to give him inspiration once again and a broken dancer who just wants to be found. Four life changing meetings, three times speaking, two empty hearts, and one romance. Or is it? Oneshot Klaine AU


**Author's Note:** I normally don't post this much and I try not to post this late, but, I'll be honest, Perfect was prewritten and was already posted on my LiveJournal (which is under the same name as this account, so if you want to see my more recent works than go right ahead. This account is just barely behind though). I kind of want to get this account caught up to that one, so I'm double posting a little bit.

This oneshot was inspired by Second Hand Serenade's "A Twist In My Story"

* * *

><p>There was this old theatre that Blaine Anderson had been going to for as long as he could <em>possibly<em> will himself to remember ever since he had moved to New York City with his family when he was eleven. Back in the day, it was beautiful and clean and wonderful and had shows playing in it nearly everyday, no matter what.

That was a good twelve years ago, though.

Now, Blaine, twenty-three and aged by the ways of the world, stood in front of the old theatre that he remembered _so vividly_, because it was the _only_ place he ever really felt safe and at home back when he first moved to the big city. He had been away at college way in L.A. for five years, and really he didn't plan on staying in New York for very long… but _this_ was the first place he visited, after his parent's home.

He stood there, _hoping_ that something would come to him, because the main reason he had even _come back home_ was because he was out of inspiration. Completely. That was a _horrible_ thing for a musician, so, yes, he was desperate for at least a small ounce of _something_ to hit him.

Nothing did.

Instead, he saw brief flashes of childhood memories of the place. He saw himself running around with his older brother, he saw himself holding the hand of his little sister, he even saw himself laughing with his parents…

Well, the place certainly made him _nostalgic_. That was something, right?

With a small, slightly frustrated sigh, the young man ran his hand through his curly dark hair, looking at the door handle, and something in his mind was suddenly telling him to actually _enter_ the old, mostly abandoned theatre.

Blaine didn't move for quite a while, thinking about whether it was _really_ a good idea for him to enter the place…

In the end, his more curious side won out and he walked towards the door, grasping the handle with a _very_ careful grip, and pulled it open, wincing slightly at the loud, groaning sound that it made, pausing for a moment, before exhaling the breath that he was holding in and slipping in through the crack he made in the door.

There were a few lights on inside, which made his eyebrow rise, though he didn't pay it _too_ much attention. He squinted his hazel eyes through the dust that lingered in the musky air, coughing a little bit into his fist, one hand gripping the strap of his messenger bag. It was _completely silent_—

Until the heard the slight thumping of feet on the stage.

Blaine's heart skipped a few beats, mainly due to fright as he jumped slightly, making the old floorboards creek. He took a deep breath to compose himself, his nose wrinkling at the dusty air he just kind of accidentally inhaled, before he walked as lightly as possible towards the door that led to the actual auditorium—

It was open.

Well, open enough for a person to slip though.

His bushy eyebrow rose even _more_ at that because… well, that was just weird. This place was _old_ and _abandoned_… but, no matter. He continued walking towards the door and half-slid through, still mostly hidden by the actual door just in the case that he had to run away. It took his eyes a few moments to become accustomed to the dark lighting of the interior, only lit by the faraway lights of the stage, since he was at the _top_ of the seats lined in front of the stage.

When his eyes _did_ become accustomed to the light, he still had to squint slightly to see what was happening—

Someone was dancing.

Blaine slid all the way into the theatre and blinked a few times in an attempt to see the person moving _so gracefully_ was, because, _wow_, they were _amazing_ and _beautiful_ even from so far away…

He still couldn't see that well.

With a soft, disgruntled sigh, Blaine started to make his way down the steps _slowly_, his hand gripping the railing lightly as he made his way down, careful of the creaking noises of the steps because he _didn't want the dancer to stop_.

When he was a little more when halfway down the steps, he could finally see who it was more clearly.

It was a boy. A _beautiful_ boy. And Blaine _really_ didn't toss around the adjective beautiful very often because… well, it was normally used for _girls_ and he didn't really play for that team, but regardless. The boy—young man—was absolutely _breathtaking_. His limbs were long and sturdy, moving _so gracefully_ and _amazingly_ that Blaine actually felt tears prick his eyes. The stranger was probably a little taller than Blaine himself (not that that was actually a surprise), and his brown hair was neat and styled, and his eyes—

Damn it, Blaine couldn't see his eyes. The dancer had his eyes closed…

Blaine started to move down the stairs again without realizing it, and next thing he knew he stepped on a _very_ creaky step, and the noise echoed throughout the _entire_ auditorium, echoing from corner to corner, wall to wall.

The dancer stopped dancing and turned around quickly, his eyes—_god_ they were _such_ a beautiful blue and Blaine stopped breathing for a few moments and there was this weird _twisting_ and _heating_ sensation in his stomach that vaguely felt like arousal for some reason which was just _weird_—wide with surprise, and he started to back up slowly… before he turned completely and stared to run off to the side, slowly turning a light shade of pink.

There was a small sense of nostalgia that poked at Blaine's head. _Where had he seen this guy before_? He looked so familiar it was puzzling… Blaine also heard the sound of children laughing, somewhere in the back of his head, a mere memory.

"W-Wait!" Blaine shouted, running down the rest of the wait impulsively, nearly slamming into the edge of the stage. He stopped himself right in time, though, and grabbed onto the dusty wood with his hands as the dancer stopped, but didn't turn around, "I… I'm sorry," Blaine gasped out, leaning forwards slightly because he _really_ wanted to see the dancer's face for some reason, "you…" he fumbled for the right words, "you're beautiful," he blurted out suddenly.

The dancer didn't move for a few moments, and Blaine was starting to think—hope?—that the dancer would turn back around, but he didn't. "Thank you," he whispered softly instead, before grabbing the bag that was lying on the floor and running away, via backstage, where there was probably a door leading into the back alley…

Blaine stood there for a few more moments, feeling the harsh, warm pulsing of his heart as a small idea started to bud in his mind.

* * *

><p>That night, when Blaine went back to his parent's house, he sat in his old room at his old desk with a blank sheet of music in front of him. He gripped his pen in his right hand and it hovered precariously over the sheet and there was a concentrated look on his face because he had <em>something<em> in the back of his mind… it was something big, and something that had potential to be _amazing_. He just couldn't put it down on paper, though, and it was _frustrating_.

After sitting there for a good ten or twenty minutes, Blaine dropped his pen onto the desk and pushed his chair back, standing up and running his fingers through his hair feeling unmistakably frustrated. This was _pointless_. The idea evaporated in his head and he sighed softly, shaking his head.

Of course, seeing a beautiful dancer gave him an idea. Of course, that same idea died when the dancer _stopped_.

Kind of like that feeling that appeared when he saw the dancer and then faded slowly (painstakingly slowly, really) when he ran away.

… Okay, maybe not the same exact thing.

Blaine walked over to his bathroom and grabbed a pair of sweatpants on his way from his dresser. He figured that he may as well forget about whoever that boy was. Chances were, Blaine would never see the young man again… a simple, not _even_ meeting meant absolutely nothing.

Or maybe it meant everything.

"Being hopeful won't help anything," Blaine muttered to himself, yanking his t-shirt over his head and dropping it to the ground next to him, before reaching down and unbuttoning his jeans, shucking them off and stepping out of them, careful not to trip on the pant leg, "One guy isn't going to change my life," he continued, "a song will." His boxers were dropped to the ground as he turned towards his shower and leaned in, turning it on.

Sudden, rather dim, mental images started to flash through his mind briefly, every single one of them of the dancer who's name Blaine didn't even figure out. His tall grace, his long legs, his gently moving arms… his _eyes_.

The guy was utterly beautiful. It wasn't like Blaine was denying _that_. He was just denying his mind the ability to wander to _other_ thoughts that he hadn't even _had_ in a while because he had been so concentrated on _work_. Just because he didn't know the guy that well and just because the guy had _really nice legs_, didn't give his mind a right to drop into the gutter. It was probably even creepier because he didn't even know the dancer's name, actually.

No, masturbation was not one of Blaine usual "pastimes". What of it? He just wasn't like every other guy around because he didn't think of long, strong legs wrapping around his waist and soft fingers tangling into his curly mess of hair and perfect, clear blue eyes staring up at him full of so much _want_—

Blaine stepped into the shower quickly, banishing _those thoughts_ from his head. Blaine wasn't uncomfortable with sex. He just didn't exactly… oh, fuck it all. It had been a while and it wasn't like he was in danger of being walked in on… and he was already half-hard.

Plus, he was a guy. He only had so much self-control.

Before he could even finish _that_ train of thought he was already gripping himself firmly, a soft moan working its way out of his lips. He thought about the young man… the mysterious dancer who he couldn't quite figure out who was _so beautiful_ and almost unearthly in how he moved and appeared.

Blaine told himself that he came within five minutes because he hadn't done this in a while.

Right.

* * *

><p>A week later Blaine found himself standing in front of the old theatre again, staring up at it wordlessly. With a small nod, he made his way towards the door, grasping the handle with little to no hesitation. He pulled it open gently, twitching slightly at the loud creak it gave before he slipped inside. He readjusted the bag on his shoulder and continued silently towards the door to the auditorium, noting that it was, again, <em>just<em> open enough to allow him to slip inside without having to open it anymore.

The stage was basically the only thing lit, just like last week, and there was, unquestioningly, a person dancing down on that old stage. Blaine's heart tightened in his chest briefly, before he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, walking down the stairs slowly, more cautiously then before.

The dancer was beautiful, as he was last week, moving so gracefully and beautifully. It was like he heard music that Blaine himself couldn't.

The young composer made his way down to the second row of chairs, and slid into one of them, sitting right next to the aisle and watching the performer with a keen eye. The chair creaked below him, and the dancer hesitated with a step for a split second… before continuing with his movements.

Blaine automatically felt more at ease. The man on stage was aware that he was there, but continued to dance anyways. _Now_, Blaine felt less like a creeper and allowed himself to watch the soft, gentle movements, ideas rushing at him suddenly once again. His hand flexed as he was inclined to start composing right then and there, but he held back and instead concentrated on the stranger onstage.

After several long, wonderful minutes of watching the nameless young man dancing on stage, the brunet slowed to a stop, holding his arms up for a few moments before lowering them slowly, his feet shifting into what looked like first position (ballet-wise) to Blaine. He took a few deep breaths, before opening his eyes and looking at Blaine.

Blaine inhaled deeply, not even paying attention to the amount of dust in the air anymore, staring back at the beautiful man with his hazel eyes. They seemed to stay in that position, the dancer standing _still_ so gracefully, and Blaine sitting in the chair with his impeccable, polite posture.

Suddenly, the dancer's eyes darted away and he turned, gliding (not walking. Gliding.) over to where his bag was, bending at the waist (not at the knees), to grab it, slinging it on his shoulder. Blaine didn't look away once; his eyes helplessly trailing the dancer's perfectly proportioned body.

When he straightened up one again, Blaine found blue eyes gazing at him once more, and it looked like the dancer was _about_ to say something and Blaine stopped breathing, waiting and _hoping_ that something would be said because he could barely remember what the guy in front of him sounded like from the simple and plain word that he used last week…

The dancer turned away and made his way back stage. Blaine breathed out loudly (at least, it sounded loud in the auditorium), and slumped back in his chair, breaking the perfect posture that his mother pounded into his head as a young boy. Maybe next week, they'll say _something_.

At that moment, however, Blaine was just glad that there were fresh ideas in his head and got him to stand up and run back up to the front of the building in a rush to get home as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>That night, Blaine pressed his pen to the paper and started to compose something. It was going to be a long and slow process, but it was <em>something<em>.

That was more than he had gotten in weeks. Actually, months.

So, yes, it was a rush and it was heartwarming in an odd way.

* * *

><p>Blaine had told himself that he wasn't going to go back to the theatre again the next week, because he was writing again and because he could probably compose without going back… but something got him into his car and driving down to the old place anyways. He wasn't entirely sure <em>what<em>, but his chest kept constricting quite painfully every time he thought of the abandoned, large, and still beautiful building. On the other hand, his heart sped up oddly when he thought about the graceful, beautiful dancer, as well.

So, yes, he cracked and found himself walking into the lobby of the theatre _once again_, not even wincing slightly at the loud door and simply walking over to the door to the auditorium, noting that it was more open than usual. Blaine slipped through the door with less effort than usual and stood at the top, paralleling his first time visiting the place since his childhood from two weeks ago without meaning to.

The stranger was there again.

Blaine wasn't _entirely_ sure if he was happy because of that, or if he was feeling something _else_ because of that.

No matter.

He headed down the stairs anyways, not sitting down this time but instead just leaning his hip into one of the chairs, one hand gripping his bag while the other braced itself on the back of the chair.

The dancer heard the creak of the stairs and stopped completely, unlike last week, and opened his eyes, peering down at Blaine, and Blaine just looked back, trying to figure out what this man was thinking, what he was _feeling_.

In the few seconds that the young man _let_ Blaine look, the composer saw _so much_. There was pain and sadness lurking in those blue eyes, and there was a sense of brokenness and _regret_. So much regret there, that Blaine's heart nearly stopped once again. There was _need_, though not the sexual need, of course, it was more of… a need to be loved, in a way.

Blaine nearly fell over because of all of this.

He didn't, though. Instead, his grip on the back of the chair tightened slightly as the dancer's eyes closed again and he went back to dancing, his body moving fluidly, like a calm river, though the movements started to become more erratic yet _controlled_, and it was like the dancer was telling a story with his body…

That was what all dancers did, of course, but this was _different_. It was prewritten or choreographed like a ballet or a production, it was _real_. It was personal and Blaine felt like he was intruding for _watching it_, but it also felt like the nameless dancer was dancing it _for him_ and it was such a personal moment…

Blaine couldn't tear his eyes away. Not even for a moment.

At one point, the dancer collapsed to the ground, and Blaine took an automatic step forwards, his need and desire to help kicking in… before he took a slight step back because this was a dance. That was purposeful, and it only proved to be intentional as the slim brunet stood up slowly, but gracefully, continuing to dance even through his unsteady movements.

The dance ended with careful, slow, and meaningful pirouettes before the dancer slowly crumpled to the ground, contorting his body perfectly but heartbreakingly. Blaine would almost _feel_ the pain and agony of _whatever_ happened… it was almost like the dancer himself got his heart broken, from his he danced near the end.

Blaine couldn't believe the he did, though. Who was _heartless_ enough to break such a perfect, wonderful man…?

The composer didn't even know the dancer's name, but there was _something_ that was trying to make itself known in his heart, in his mind. It kind of terrified him, but it absolutely _thrilled_ him at the same time.

Rising from the ground, the dancer almost immediately turned away, barely glancing at Blaine again before he started to make his way over to the curtain where his stuff was, as per usual.

"Wait," Blaine called out, calmer than the first time he had, walking down one step before stopping again, gazing over at the dancer, who had stopped moving and had turned _just barely_. If Blaine hadn't been watching so intensely, the movement would have been unnoticeable, but Blaine found it near impossible to look away. "What's your name?" he asked, stopping at the first row of chairs, trying to find the dancer's blue eyes once again.

The man on stage didn't turn around completely, "Kurt," was all he said, his voice light, and clear, and almost completely emotionless with that simple four lettered name.

_Kurt_.

That sounded _so familiar_ to Blaine for some reason, but he still couldn't quite put his finger on where he heard that name and where he had seen that face before.

Blaine nodded slowly, "I'm Blaine," he introduced himself, "thank you… for letting me watch you dance. You're still as beautiful as you were the first time."

Kurt was suddenly turning, just slightly again, his blue eyes finding Blaine's hazel ones and there was some unnamable emotion shinning in those expressive orbs, "It's no problem," he replied with a small shrug of his slim shoulders. The brunet pushed his bangs out of his eyes and it looked like he was about to say something else once again, but he was retrieving his bag before Blaine could be sure.

Blaine could have sworn he had heard "Thank you for watching me," float through the air, but he could have just been hearing things.

* * *

><p>Blaine wasn't entirely sure why or <em>how<em>, but the next week when he stopped by, Kurt was sitting at the edge of the stage, drinking a water bottle, his legs crossed daintily and his posture even more impeccable than Blaine's own. Kurt looked up when he heard Blaine come in and their eyes locked before Blaine could even take a step down the stairs.

They stood like that for a while, staring at each other, before Blaine started to walk slowly down the steep stairs, one at a time. His bag hit the side of his thigh and just barely brushed his hip when he let go of it and let it swing as it wished as he made his way down to the stage.

"Hey," he said quietly, not wanting to be too loud because basically everything said _echoed_, horribly loudly. It would be weird, speaking at a normal volume in such an empty, desolate place.

Kurt put his water bottle next to him, not once looking away from Blaine with carefully guarded eyes, "Hello," he responded just as quietly, before shifting to the side slightly, to Blaine's amazement.

Kurt was asking him to sit down.

_Next to him_.

Well, that was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

With a small nod, Blaine set his bag down, leaning it against a seat and walked over to the stage, grabbing the edge of it with his hands and pulling himself up, twisting and sitting down next to Kurt, not crossing his legs but still sitting up just as straight as he normally did.

There was silence for a while, and even though they feigned to be staring at the large area in front of them, both were aware of the sideways glances they gave to each other, every so often catching each other's eyes before looking away immediately. It wasn't out of embarrassment but more out of reflex.

"I always dreamed of being up here as a kid," Blaine suddenly said softly, breaking the silence between them. He didn't look at Kurt, he just kept staring off to the side, even though he could _feel_ the dancer's gaze on him and him alone, "This theatre was basically part of my childhood," he explained, turning his head towards Kurt, but still not looking at him, "when my family moved here… we came here, all the time. I'd always run around with my brother and sister. I thought about playing music up on this very stage, to a huge crowd of people."

Honestly, Blaine had _never_ told anyone any of this, but it just felt right, somehow, to tell Kurt, a person he barely knew but felt _right_ being around.

Blaine finally looked at Kurt again, and Kurt was staring at him, his head tilted to the side very slightly, "That explains why you were here that one day, then," he commented softly, a very small hint of amusement in his eyes.

All Blaine did in response was laugh a little bit and nod, before saying, "Yeah, basically. I was just looking for inspiration because I haven't been able to compose lately…" he glanced away again.

"Did you find it?"

There was a small pause.

Hazel eyes flickered back to blue, "I think so."

They stared at each other for a few more moments, before Blaine continued to talk about random things, and Kurt responded shortly, sarcastically, smartly.

* * *

><p>"Why don't you talk about yourself?" Blaine asked, an hour or so later, "I've basically told you my life story within…" he checked is watch, "an hour and a half, give or take. Tell me about yourself, Kurt. You're still… such a mystery," Blaine found himself staring at Kurt again, even as Kurt stare ahead of him. His eyes trailed the defined, pale jaw and the way his Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed thickly, as if pondering what exactly to say. Kurt was <em>still<em> breathtakingly beautiful.

"There's really not much to tell," Kurt finally said, shrugging a little bit, "I… I was born and raised in Ohio," Blaine raised an eyebrow at this, "and I ran away when I turned eighteen and was old enough to be by myself."

Blaine found himself impulsively pulling his legs up onto the stage before he crossed them, one over another, still gazing at Kurt who seemed extremely deep in thought, "You ran away?"

"Yes," the dancer replied softly, his shoulders stiffening slightly more than they already were, "I ran away… because I didn't want to be trapped there anymore. Because… Ohio wasn't really a place to accomplish my dreams of becoming a dancer. New York was. So… I left, without saying goodbye… without really regretting it until much later," Kurt confessed, still not looking at Blaine.

"Without saying good bye…?" Blaine echoed, though as he said it, it sounded more like a question than anything, "… You're an amazing dancer, though," he pressed on, leaning forwards slightly in an attempt to catch Kurt's eye, "if you were leaving to accomplish your dreams, which I'm sure are to be a famous, well-known dancer in a widespread ballet," the way Kurt bit his bottom lip told Blaine that he was right, "why haven't you done so yet?"

Kurt sighed softly, his eyes closing as he shook his head slightly, "I… I was on my way, to becoming that. I had been in a few lesser-known productions and my name was becoming spread among the directors and…" there was a pause, and Kurt licked his lips, wetting them effectively. Blaine couldn't help but stare openly, "During an audition, I messed up, really badly," Kurt's head started nodding suddenly, "I… I got injured. I twisted my ankle and did something to my knee and… the doctors said I'd never dance again," Blaine's eyebrows raised at this, "directors lost interest in me and moved on."

"Why didn't you go back to Ohio, then…?" Blaine asked, still hoping that Kurt would just _look_ at him so he could figure out what the brunet was even feeling at the moment, because he had _no_ idea.

"I was going to," Kurt responded, _finally_ looking at Blaine and—Blaine's heart started to ache, because Kurt looked so _sad_ and suddenly _heartbroken_ but there was some form of self-hatred lurking there that honestly _scared_ Blaine, "until a certain boy stopped me." Blaine opened his mouth, about to ask _who_ but Kurt continued before he could even form the word in his mouth, "He asked me to stay and… promised that he loved me and told me he'd get married someday…" a sarcastic, dry laugh flowed through the air as Kurt's eyes filled with tears, "I was such an idiot," he whispered brokenly, before turning away from Blaine.

The composer reached out a hand slowly to _touch_ the dancer because all he really wanted to do at the moment was _comfort_ the young man but Kurt inhaled sharply, straightening up again and sniffling before Blaine got even close, "He… he, uhm… stayed with me, for a while. I actually lived with that relationship for a year afterwards, and I really did believe him… although, apparently, he was over it after the third month of us living together. He cheated on me and I wasn't actually aware of it until I walked in on him and that… _girl_."

Oh.

"I kind of… lost all hope, after that. Kicked him out of the apartment as quickly as a could… I kept my job, miraculously… I only started dancing again about a month ago, mostly because I just… missed it. A lot," Kurt still wouldn't look at Blaine, "I thought about running back to Ohio… back to my dad and step mom, but I obviously haven't," he added shakily with a small shrug.

Kurt was about to cry. Blaine could tell.

"Why haven't you gone back?" Blaine asked softly, uncrossing his legs slightly and scooting slightly closer to Kurt.

There was a short laugh, "Because I _left_. Because I betrayed my family and my friends and they wouldn't want me back _now_. Not so long after I left… my dad called me a lot after I left. He really wanted to talk to me, but… I never answered the phone. I just ignored it all and went on because I thought I could accomplish my dream. I think that he got the picture and left me alone," he voice broke on the last word, and he leaned away from Blaine, his body starting to tremble slightly.

Blaine reached forwards impulsively and grabbed Kurt's shoulders gently, somehow twisting the both of them and ending up on his back, with Kurt lying on top of him, probably extremely shocked by the movements, "If you think that it's too late… it's not," Blaine whispered into Kurt's ear, one hand on the dancer's lower back and the other arm wrapped around his upper back, "It's never too late to go fix things with your parents… with your family and friends. You still have a chance, Kurt."

Kurt's small, but strong, hands were gripping at his shirt when he _finally_ responded, and he pressed his face into the junction of Blaine's neck and left shoulder. His long legs moved and they found themselves entangled, even though Kurt _was_, indeed, taller than Blaine by a few inches. Blaine felt tears fall against his neck and shoulders, but he didn't care. Instead, he rubbed Kurt's lower back gently, trying to sooth the mental pain that he _knew_ the brunet on top of him was going through.

Kurt stopped crying slowly, but didn't move. If anything, he shifted on top of Blaine slightly, as if trying to make himself more comfortable, before settling back down, not once moving his face from Blaine's neck. The warm breaths of air made Blaine's body heat up (though that was _also_ due to _other_ things), and when Kurt inhaled deeply Blaine knew instinctively that he was about to talk, "Do you think you can fall in love with someone when you don't even know their full name?" Kurt asked softly.

"Yes," Blaine answered without much thought. His own answer surprised him because… it hadn't even been _thinking_ about love of all things. Though, as he thought about it in the silence that followed his short answer, he supposed that, quite possibly, somewhere along the way he had fallen for Kurt… Blaine hadn't exactly been able not to think about him ever since the first day that he saw him. His heart sped up when he did think directly about him… it felt unavoidably _nice_ to be holding him like this…

Maybe he _did_ love Kurt.

"Kurt Hummel," was suddenly breathed against his neck, and Blaine stopped breathing suddenly because _that name was so familiar_, "Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. That's my full name."

Blaine nodded, his hand not stopping its gentle movements against Kurt's back, "Blaine Chandler Anderson."

Kurt nodded in response.

They laid there in comfortable silence.

* * *

><p>That night when Blaine got back to his childhood home, he continued composing quickly, his pen flying across the paper at an amazing pace because he felt so <em>inspired<em> that it was almost dizzying.

He got a good three pages, including the part of the page he did prior, down before he put the pen down and leaned back in his chair, staring at the note-filled page pensively, not noticing when his door was pushed open and a teenage girl poked her head through.

"Hey Blaine," she called, causing Blaine to turn the entire chair around, spinning on the axis as he faced the seventeen-year-old sister who had closed the door and was now leaning against the space of wall between the door and the bookcase that was _just_ big enough for her to lean again, "are you composing again?"

Blaine nodded, smiling a little bit, "Yeah, I am, Serena," he stood up from the chair and stretched, groaning a little bit, "I'm glad to be back in business."

"_I'm_ glad that you're back, Serena pressed, skipping over to Blaine's bed and sitting down on it, staring up at Blaine through her mascara-covered eyelashes, "you're such a mope when you aren't composing," she drawled, rolling her eyes a little bit before she laughed lightly, tilting her head back, letting her dyed hair fall back.

With a small snort, Blaine walked over and tousled Serena's black (and blue and green and pink—basically, she was the rebel child. No one was really sure how that happened) hair, "I'm glad that you're so fond of my company no matter that, Serena," he shot back, before pulling his hand away and walking over to the bookcase, scanning it for the McKinley Elementary School Yearbook from back when he was in second grade or something.

"You're welcome," Serena replied, sounding tooth-achingly sweet out of nowhere, "but, honestly," her voice dropped to it usual pitch, no longer laced by sarcasm or fake-sweetness, "I'm glad, Blaine. Almost your whole visit you've seemed upset, and then when you came back home today you were cheery as ever," Blaine shrugged at what she said. Serena always overanalyzed situations, "Something happened today, Blaine. You really do need to tell me what. I promise I won't tell mom or dad."

"It's nothing Serena, really," Blaine sighed, finally finding the book and reaching up for it.

There was a disgruntled sigh and suddenly Serena was next to Blaine, reaching for the doorknob, "Fine, don't tell me what's going on. You know where to find me," with that she pulled open the door.

"How is Johan, by the way?" Blaine asked, pulling the book from the shelf and checking the covering, hearing his sister inhale deeply and hesitate before responding, which really just _wasn't_ like her.

Serena scoffed lightly, "As gay as ever," she whispered and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Blaine sighed, shaking his head and walking over to his bed. He knew that Serena meant nothing by that comment; she was just upset and stressed out for several reasons. One of them was senior year; the other was because she was in love with her best friend.

Who was a gay male while she was a (mostly) straight female.

Blaine shook his head and opened the yearbook, flipping the old pages to the pictures of students. He found his class and skimmed the names on the side, immediately look at the last names that began with 'H'.

There he was.

Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.

* * *

><p>The next week, Kurt wasn't there, even though Blaine waited for him for probably at least an hour and a half.<p>

Blaine didn't get upset over it.

* * *

><p>Again, Kurt was not there the next week, and, again, Blaine waited. This time for only an hour, but he waited anyways.<p>

Blaine felt his hope start to dim, just barely, due to this.

* * *

><p>The next week, Blaine only waited for half an hour, if that, before he left the old theatre, his heart feeling heavy yet empty at the same time.<p>

He started to ignore the hurt feelings that he felt because _Kurt wasn't there anymore_.

Serena picked up on his bad mood. Hell, she picked up on them the moment he came home two weeks ago.

She respectfully didn't mention anything about it, though.

* * *

><p>It had been a month since Blaine last heard from Kurt. He went to the theatre, simply because he just <em>hoped<em> that he would see the brunet there… but he didn't stay and he didn't wait. He just opened the front door to see if the door to the auditorium was open at all.

It wasn't.

He went home.

Serena was lying on his bed, reading a magazine, waiting for him. She dropped the magazine to her side when he walked in and stared at him apathetically, before she opened her carefully glossed mouth.

"I don't… really want to hear it, Serena," Blaine whispered softly, brokenly.

He wasn't looking at her, but he felt her stare before she grabbed the magazine and stood up. His little sister walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him closely and gently, "Love sucks," she whispered into his ear, before turning and leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Blaine tensed at her words, and bit his bottom lip, trying with all his might _not to cry_ because he had barely known Kurt to _begin with_ and _no_ Blaine probably didn't love him. He _denied_ that he had any feelings at all for Kurt Elizabeth Hummel at _all_ because—

Just fuck it all.

"Yes," Blaine whispered to the empty room, his voice cracking, "love does suck."

He started to cry.

Because he _had_ loved Kurt. Because there had been _something_ between them that wasn't there anymore because Kurt has disappeared randomly and suddenly to _who knows where_ and it was driving Blaine crazy.

He fell onto his bed, face first, and just cried into a pillow.

* * *

><p>Blaine was tempted to just <em>not<em> go to the theatre the week following because he didn't want to have another emotional episode… but, for some crazy, insane, possibly masochistic reason, Blaine found himself in the auditorium, staring down at the empty, barely lit stage, his back sling over his shoulder and his breathing as steady as it could possibly be.

He was walking down the stairs before his mind registered that he was moving, and he climbed onto the stage, his bag hitting his hip gently as he walked over to the curtain and peered into both sides, trying to see if they had—

Oh, there it was.

He wandered towards the piano pushed against the wall, not caring how much noise he made because _no one was there_. He grabbed the stool for the piano, and carried it out onto the main stage, setting it down more to the right side, before going back to the piano and beginning the process of rolling it out. Sure, Blaine was a tiny thing, but that didn't mean he didn't have the strength to roll a moveable piano out.

When he positioned it properly, Blaine reached into his bag and pulled the completely sheet music out—four pages. He spread it out on the piano and stared at the notes doting the page before sitting down on the bench, barely blinking at the slight groan that it gave because… it _was_ a really old piano stool.

He pushed up the cover of the piano and played a D. He winced at how out of tune the piano was, but didn't want to bother tuning it properly, so, instead, he positioned his hands carefully over the keys and trained his eyes onto the papers in front of him… and started to play.

Music filled the air around him, and it still sounded okay even if the piano was out of tune, so he paid the detail no attention as his hands skimmed over the keys and pressed notes.

Blaine's hazel eyes slid closed as he got more into it, his body moving with his hands as he got louder and quieter and louder again, scales and chords and tied notes singing out, echoing in the empty place. He couldn't help but imagine a huge crowd behind him, watching him silently, judging him carefully. It was a familiar vision from his childhood, one that he _always_ wanted to come true… and it had. Just not in this particular theatre that he loved and adored, but in plenty of other places similar to this one, just newer.

The music he was playing started to slow down carefully, getting softer and quieter but still, somehow, holding a happy note that contrasted with the speed and volume of it all. His hands stilled completely over the keys, and he exhaled the breath that he had, unknowingly, been holding in for much of the song.

There was a small applaud behind him and he turned , squinting his eyes slightly at the darkness of the auditorium, seeing a figure walking down the stairs while clapping at the same time. When said figure stepped into proper lighting for Blaine to see the person, Blaine's heart almost stopped.

"Kurt," he breathed softly, turning around on the stool, lifting his legs over it, and setting his feet back on the ground, though he didn't stand up, "What are you—"

"You sounded great," Kurt interjected, reaching the first row of seats, and simply standing there for a few moments, gazing up at Blaine before walking over to the stairs at the side of the stage, walking up them. Blaine's eyes couldn't help but trail the dancer's body, noting that he looked healthier than before, and that he was wearing street clothes rather than practice clothes.

"Where have you been?" was all Blaine could manage to ask, standing up slowly as Kurt made his way towards him, notably taller because he was wearing heeled boots that really just made him look even _better_ somehow.

Kurt stopped a few feet in front of him and licked his lips, glancing to the side briefly. Blaine noted that there was a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, "I went back to Ohio," Kurt stated bluntly, "I… I took your advice and went back home to see my parents and anyone who was in Lima…" Blaine waited for him to continue, staring at the pale young man, "… They welcomed me back home, amazingly enough."

"Told you," Blaine couldn't help but tease despite what he was feeling at the moment.

"Yeah…"

They stared at each other for a few more moments, "We went to the same elementary school," Blaine randomly announced, walking back to the piano and playing a low C chord absentmindedly.

"No wonder you were so familiar," Kurt whispered, walking over next to Blaine, their shoulders touching, "Actually, I figured that out when I got back home and looked at my yearbook. You were the kid with curly black hair who… protected me from the bullies who didn't like who I was."

Blaine smiled vaguely, "I did, didn't I?"

"I think that I liked you back then… for being so nice to me," Kurt added softly, reaching out and pressing a key as well.

"What about now?" Blaine asked suddenly, feeling a rush of courage and adrenaline that convinced him to ask that question.

Kurt was looking at him suddenly, and Blaine looked away from the black and white keys, staring back, "I don't think that I like you, per say," he whispered softly in response, leaning forwards a little bit. Blaine's heart stopped, because _Kurt just said that_, and— "I think that it's something more," he breathed, and Blaine tilted his head back more to look Kurt straight on.

_Oh_.

Neither of them move for a while.

"What is the song named?" Kurt asked almost inaudibly.

Blaine smiled a little bit at the question, "Kurt," he responded, even though the piece didn't have an official name until at that moment. Kurt just sounded… _right_ for the piece, "For the person who inspired me," Blaine explained since Kurt's eyebrow rose slightly, "and for the man that I love."

Blaine saw tears start to form in Kurt's eyes and a small smile make its way to his face, before he reached out slowly and gently gripped Kurt's waist, pulling him forwards and effectively closing the small amount of space between them as he rose to his toes to kiss Kurt, and as Kurt leaned down to kiss Blaine.

"Thank you," Kurt stated softly when they separated, and Blaine looked up at him questioningly, "for finding me," he explained simply.

Blaine laughed lowly, leaning up again and brushing their noses together. He knew he didn't have to say anything in return. He didn't have to say a cheesy line or anything. He didn't want to, anyways.

They were alone, together, at that moment. That was all Blaine longed for, was to be _with_ Kurt even though they were still basically strangers, the only music in the air was the sound of their heartbeats, thudding together.

Blaine's eyes never left Kurt's.


End file.
